


This Broken Jaw of Our Lost Kingdoms

by cosmickaiju



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (or is it), Character Death-adjacent I suppose, Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 16:14:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19749253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmickaiju/pseuds/cosmickaiju
Summary: A two-fold singularity,or; beginning again.





	This Broken Jaw of Our Lost Kingdoms

They’re not supposed to dream, but sometimes they do. Sometimes they find themselves in a barren landscape, a heap of broken images where the sun beats. They are themself, yet they stare down at their form too, vision bifurcated, yet familiar, in a way. They see disconnected edges, a mesh of burnished silver scales that mesh together, fold and writhe and twist, and fall apart into bleached white bones. They’re aware, too aware, as they feel themself dissolve and disintegrate. As they watch the few remaining plants around them wither up and die.   
  
They find themself reaching out with one hand to touch them, even as they can still see what remains of their corporation out of the corner of one eye. Their hand connects with the withered form, and it’s only then they notice it, as a spark of energy curls through their fingers, turns the pitch dark void into an inky cobalt for only the brief blink of an eye, then bursts into a miniscule point of light within. They blink again, and the arm is gone.   
  
Still, they remain, as dust blows, as the sun swells red and massive in the sky above them, as the heat engulfs them, and their dust reduces further still, faint particles scattered about the empty void of space. Still aware, their corporation indiscernible from the remains around them. Vapors twist and form and coalesce around them, and they watch, distantly, as a newborn star springs to life. They’re still there, as a planet forms beneath them anew, as time passes and stretches, on and on, until something changes— until the tiny lights within them flare, condense, and once again, like that day, oh _so_ long ago, they find they’re back in their ethereal, serpentine form, staring back at not-quite-themself.   
  
IT SEEMS IT’S TIME FOR ME TO DO MY JOB ONCE MORE.  
  
They wake with a start, scales creeping up their neck as they gasp for air. An all encompassing loneliness sits heavy in their chest, and deep in their bones, but they can’t remember a thing, except a bright burst of light the moment they close their eyes.


End file.
